


The day the earth shook Affair

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Earthquakes, Friendship, Gen, Mystery, New York City, Partnership, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 07:13:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20738300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are in a race against time. An UNCLE agent has betrayed the Command and they must hunt her down before she or THRUSH decimates the world with an infernal machine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 55th Anniversary of the Man from U.N.C.L.E. premiering on September 22nd, 1964.

Helicopters swirled around the perimeter, lights flashed and emergency vehicles screeched to a stop.

A voice called out over a bullhorn, “Please exit the building in an orderly fashion. This is not a drill, I repeat this is not a drill. Proceed to the nearest vehicles, and remain calm.” 

That voice was Napoleon Solo’s. 

Inside the remotely located Research and Development Headquarters of the U.N.C.L.E. klaxons were blaring; red and green lights flashed.

Illya Kuryakin stood near the main doors, directing which way everyone should go. He tried to keep a rough headcount, estimating the number of people who’d already escaped. There was just no time.

A bomb threat had been made, no not a threat, it was a warning. There was definitely a bomb somewhere in the building and it was going to explode very soon, there was simply no time to find and disarm it. Somehow the system to detect explosive devices had failed and there was no time to figure out how that happened either. 

The members of Section I, there for the annual Summit meeting were no doubt the intended target, but they were already out of harm's way. 

Why a warning had been given to UNCLE made no sense if it was to be an assassination attempt?

Kuryakin would address that conundrum later. Right now personnel had to get to their cars and get away from the building as there was no idea how powerful a bomb it would be, and its explosive power would be augmented by the many chemicals and explosive devices on already on premises in the main R & D research center.

The Russian pulled his communicator as it called to him. 

“Get out of there now tovarisch,” his partner warned.

Napoleon was still outside in the parking lot watching the cars fill and drive off to safety That left only a few agents as well as one car for them, while the last of the choppers circled overhead.

Just as a helicopter passed over the building there was a thunderous explosion, with a mushroom of red and yellow flames billowing into the air; the concussion took out the chopper, thereby creating another explosion. The ground shook with the power of the blasts.

“Illya!” Solo called into his communicator, but there was no answer. He closed his eyes, raising his chin as his lips tightened, fearing the worst. When he opened them again, a lone soot-covered figure appeared amidst a cloud of black acrid smoke.

“Thank God,” the American whispered, jogging to his partner, as he watched him keel over onto the macadam.

Napoleon lifted him up, tossing the man over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, heading for the car as fast as he was able to move.

People think of strange things when under pressure and Solo he realized how light the Russian felt.

The other agents were already in the vehicle when Napoleon shoved his partner inside, and climbed in after him.

“Hit it!” He yelled to the driver; that order getting the gas pedal floored and the tires screeching as the sedan burned rubber.

Two miles down the road they joined the other vehicles as people stepped out from them, watching another round of explosions. Some stood with their hands over their mouths in disbelief, others cried, and there were those who reached out, comforting their co-workers.

Napoleon held Illya’s head in his lap, watching as those blue eyes finally opened. 

“Hi there. You in any pain?”

“Headache.”

“That’s it? You were lucky Illya.”

The Russian tried sitting up, but held his head with his hands and decided at the moment, moving wasn’t a good idea. “For once I agree with you; did everyone make it out? I could not keep an accurate…”

“Not sure, we’re doing a headcount now. We lost two men in one of the helicopters when the building went up.”

There was another rumble, this time it wasn’t like an explosion. 

The ground beneath them was beginning to shake, and violently. It took just a second for them to realize it was an earthquake. 

Napoleon dragged Illya from the car, along with the other agents, they moved away from it. 

They watched it sway violently, and suddenly the ground beneath it opened up with half the car disappearing into a gaping crevice.

There were screams, as everyone tried to steady themselves against the quake. It was over in a minute, but seemed like it lasted an eternity.

A few people became nauseous and vomited as quakes could sometimes affect people that way. Many complained that they felt like they were seasick, Illya among them.

Napoleon pulled his communicator, contacting Alexander Waverly who was enroute along with the other heads of Section I to separate safehouses before they could be safely whisked back to their own countries.

“Channel D-emergency scramble-Waverly,” he said as the dust in the air began to settle.

“Report Mr Solo, “ Waverly practically barked at him, and that was rare as the man was usually the calm in the midst of a raging storm. “What the devil is going on?”  
  
“Sir, R&D headquarters is gone, completely destroyed. We lost two men in a chopper and are taking a headcount to see if anyone is missing. There was a sizeable earthquake here as well...did you feel it where you are?”

“Negative Mr. Solo. There have been no reports of seismic activity. Are you thinking this is tied in with the attack upon headquarters there?”

“I’m not sure sir, but it does seem awfully coincidental,” Napoleon sighed.’

“I want it investigated as well as the attack. See if you can find out who it was that called in the warning as well. New York hasn’t had much luck finding that as it was done by telephone. The Summit, for now, is cancelled. I’ll be returning to New York. Give me your findings by this evening, if you are able. Waverly out.”

“That is a pretty tall order,” Illya said, having walked up behind his partner and overheard the conversation. He was looking a little green around the gills, which was odd as he only appeared that way when he was seasick.

“You got that right...you okay?”

“I still have a headache, but it is subsiding. I must admit I have just experienced a bit of motion sickness with this earthquake. I have never had that happen before. Other than that there is nothing else wrong as far as I can tell.”

One by one the cars filled again with the non-field staff, headed out for the long drive to Phoenix. Most of them lived in that area and had homes to go to. 

UNCLE wanted their R&D headquarters in the middle of nowhere to avoid anyone nosing around, unfortunately that meant lots of travel for the staff members, who often stayed at the facility for weeks at a time rather than travel back and forth to Phoenix on a daily basis. 

Guest quarters were available to them, and given they were scientists, leaving to go home in the middle of an experiment or research just wouldn’t do.

Now only the Section II and III agents remained on the scene, numbering about twenty, staying there in hopes of finding something, anything to give Waverly answers.

By day’s end, there was nothing to offer in a way of an explanation. Headquarters in New York said there was no chatter from THRUSH in regards to the event; they were always quick to lay claim to their latest success at counting coup against UNCLE, but not this time.

The UNCLE location that had been destroyed was not a field office in the true sense, but rather a location where R&D worked on some of their larger projects. It was remote, with no one living in the immediate area. Though it was called Phoenix headquarters, it was a fair distance from its namesake. That at least was a blessing, as there would be minimal interference and curiosity from anyone.

The F.B.I. and local police had been notified of the incident and would partner with the Command in keeping the area free from unwanted visitors until things could be cleaned up. That would in reality take weeks. 

The rumor of a tanker explosion was spread, claiming poisonous chemical gases and contaminants having been released. The site was cordoned off, as it was too dangerous. The occurrence of the earthquake seemed to be oddly localized and no one outside the area was aware it had happened.

At the end of a long day Napoleon and Illya checked into a motel on Van Buren Street in central Phoenix. The street was the main thoroughfare through the city, but looked like it was beginning to become a venue for prostitutes. 

“Great location,” Napoleon mumbled his sarcasm. “We couldn’t get something better than this?”

Illya shrugged, “We seem to have stepped into the middle of a street walker convention, but unfortunately accounting is still giving us a strict budget for accommodations. This is what fell into that price range. Given we did not get outside accommodations before hand, beggars can not be choosers. The fact that there are a number of personnel seeking hotels as well is making accounting a little testy about the sudden demand for hotel chits.”

Napoleon made one of his usual faces as he disappeared into the bathroom. He came out rather quickly, looking even unhappier. I think we’ve just checked into the roach motel, “ he added with disdain.

The two of them looked at the twin beds, no doubt thinking simultaneously of what stains lie under the covers, not to mention bed bugs.

“We have had worse accommodations,”Illya finally commented. He looked at his watch, noting the time.

“Should you not make your report to the Old Man?”

“Yeah, I know,” Solo answered. “I don’t think he’s going to be very happy since there’s no answers.

Napoleon contacted Waverly, hearing the harrumphs and sighs made by the man as he spoke.   
  
“Very well then Mr. Solo, barring any other urgent situations; I want you and Mr. Kuryakin to remain there for the next few weeks to supervise, at least the start of the cleanup. Perhaps something of interest may turn up in the process. I do want to say well done in evacuating everyone. From what I understand, beyond the helicopter pilots, only one person is missing... a Miss Fernández, an intelligence agent involved with File 40 from our office in Rio de Janeiro.

“Yes sir, she was the only one unaccounted for. The teams are still waiting to comb the site for any signs of her once the remaining hot spots are extinguished,” Illya said. ”Though the intensity of the heat and explosions may have destroyed any human remains.”

“Very well. Good night gentlemen, and get some rest, you’ll need it. Out.”

Illya cocked an eyebrow, as the Old Man was not one to offer compliments.

“Hmm, a few weeks,” Napoleon repeated, looking at himself in the mirror. I think you and I will need to acquire some new clothing.”

“Oh joy, another adventure into the world of dealing with accounting, ” Illya rolled his eyes. “They will be unhappy once it hits them that our luggage and its contents were lost, as well as the belonging of the other agents in attendance, not to mention all the scientific equipment.

And tell me again, why we did not go get a hotel room first before we…”

Napoleon scowled at the Russian.

“And do not blame me for the loss of our luggage. It was you who were anxious to see...what was her name again?”

“Oh so now its my fault?” Napoleon snarled.

“No, it is neither your fault or mine. I think we are just feeling the effects of the quake as well as having to deal with such a large scale emergency, not to mention the loss of the site.”

“You’re right tovarisch, I apologize.”

“As do I my friend.”

Napoleon looked his suit over, decided it was a bit dusty and in need of a good cleaning. 

“Well I for one am not living in the same clothes for the next few weeks; you do what you want tovarisch. You might want to wash out your things in the bath... no cancel that. You definitely don’t want to do that, “ the American cringed..

“Why would you think I would not purchase new clothing?” Illya asked.

“Because you’re cheap and don’t like waiting to be reimbursed by accounting.”

“I am not cheap; I am frugal, and besides, I do not see the point of wasting money on expensive clothing when all too often it is ruined while we are on assignment.”

Napoleon shook his head, as Illya was like a broken record when it came to this topic. The Russian was closed-mouthed about most of his past in the Soviet Union and he wondered if that had something to do with his attitude. He doubted he’d get the answer anytime soon.

They headed out to find what they needed, shaving kits toiletries, underwear, socks, trousers, shirts and sport jackets. 

Napoleon returned first, nattily dressed as usual, in a suit that looked like it had been made for him. He carried a garment bag slung over his shoulder, and several shopping bags labelled ‘The Clotherie’. He’d also picked up their toiletries as well. 

Illya wore a pair of black jeans, a black tee shirt and as usual a black jacket. What other clothing he’d purchased was in a large brown paper sack.

In a second bag he carried things they hadn’t discussed; disinfectant spray, cleaner, sponges, rubber gloves, bug spray, flip flops to wear while showering, plastic mattress covers, as well as two sets of sheets. Egyptian cotton no less and that made Napoleon smile.

Apparently his cheapskate partner was learning.

After scrubbing down the bathroom to their satisfaction, and sanitizing and making beds, they finally stopped moving and laid down for the night.

“We should bill them for our cleaning services,” Illya said.

“Good night Illya.”

The Russian snickered, “Good night Napoleon.”

The next morning there was a knock at their motel door.

A blond haired man flashing an UNCLE ID card smiled at them, though Illya was beside the open door ready to blow the fellow’s brains out if he wasn’t who he said he was. 

“Mister Waverly sent this, with his compliments.” He pointed to the parking lot

Sitting there was a tan pickup truck, and attached to a hitch in the rear in multiple shades of blue was Winnebago trailer.

“He said rather than you traveling back and forth from the cleanup site, better you remain there and sleep in this. It has a fully stocked fridge, including a bottle of scotch and a bottle of vodka.”

“Why thank you Agent?” Napoleon hadn’t looked at the ID card as Illya had deemed it legitimate. He was a Section III, though he seemed a bit young.

“Ramirez, but you can call me Manny.”

“And will you be accompanying us Manny?”Illya asked

“Yes, but I’ll be driving your car while you man the pickup.” 

“Ahem,” Napoleon cleared his throat. “How about you drive the truck and we’ll stay in our car?”

“Whatever you say Mister Solo. You’re the boss.”

“Give us a few minutes to shower and dress Manny, and if you would be so kind, there’s a café around the corner. Could you get us some coffee, black and a couple...no, three bacon egg and cheese sandwiches on rolls,” Napoleon slipped him a ten spot.

“Get some pastries too,”Illya called,”and something for yourself as well.”

“Yes sirs,” Manny saluted and the door was closed.

“They seem to be getting younger and younger,”Napoleon said.

“Yes, this one still has his spots,” Illya added.

“What?”

“Spots, as in the kind young animals have as camouflage.”

“Oh, very nice analogy,” Napoleon smiled as he made a quick exit into the bathroom, slamming the door after himself.

“Leave me hot water!” Illya yelled.

After returning to the site of the former R&D headquarters Napoleon took charge as the rest of the crews arrived, bringing their own trailers for accommodations.

They estimated it would take weeks to dig through the wreckage, doing so carefully to search for the missing woman, and just in case any chemicals survived, though Illya doubted it.

Still having to function in the desert heat wearing hazmat suits meant the men would have to work in short shifts.

Thanks to generators, their trailers were air conditioned, though much to Kuryakin’s disappointment the Winnebago was not.

As the sun went down, they called it a night. Still, Napoleon insisted on having guards posted around the perimeter of the site.

Once inside the Winnebago Solo stripped to his tee shirt and wrapping a towel around his waist he proceeded to prepare dinner for he and Illya.

It was basic, spaghetti and meatballs. Though it was canned sauce he managed to doctor it up with a dash of red wine (another gracious addition from the boss), adding sugar to it as well, along with a pinch of garlic salt and oregano. He toasted and buttered white bread, poured glasses of wine for each of them.

Waverly saw to it their pantry was stocked well enough, but they were still missing some amenities. Their meals would be simple, cereal or pancakes for breakfast, bacon and sausage too. There were cold cuts, hot dogs, hamburger meat, potatoes, lots of pasta, coffee and tea. Some fresh vegetables and fruit as well, all plain but filling. 

Illya brought a small table and two folding chairs outside, and together he and his partner dined under the stars.

The evening temperatures were comfortable, making the Russian seem a bit more content.

Some noise came from the nearby trailers as the cleanup crew were eating their supper as well, and making plans for a poker game.

Solo and Kuryakin were invited but they were content to relax together, having drinks and looking at the stars on a perfectly clear night.

“Beautiful out here isn’t it tovarisch? Sort of makes you forget about everything bad in the world, even if just for a few moments."

“It is, but in my country, farther north the stars seem so close that it feels as though you could reach out and pluck them from the sky...except of course when it is not the time of the White Nights. Have you ever seen it Napoleon?”

“White Nights? Can’t say I have.”

"In Leningrad _Beliye Nochi_ last from May to early July and it is quite spectacular. Someday when life is better and hopefully peaceful, I will take you to my home and show you.”

"Don't northern lights exist elsewhere?"

"Well, yes but they are the most poetically beautiful in Russia."

Napoleon smiled as he raised his glass of scotch; he realized he almost pulled the rug out from under Illya's happy memory. “Here’s to that happening, tovarisch."

Illya tapped his glass of vodka to it with a nod. 

_ “Budem zdorovy!” _

“You got that right...to our health,” Napoleon smiled.

After everything was said and done, the cleanup revealed nothing useful. No body, none of the equipment was salvageable. All work that had been in progress, no longer existed.

Alexander Waverly was not a happy man.

Upon their return to New York, Solo and Kuryakin were updated by the Old Man regarding a File 40 breach that occurred prior to the destruction in Phoenix facility. 

“The access code was that of a member of the intelligence division from our Rio office, it belonged to our missing Agent Fernández. Only one file was accessed and that was the plans for a THRUSH scheme, as in earthquakes, Project Deep Hole to be precise.”

“How could she have accessed File 40 in Rio when she was in Phoenix?” Solo asked.

“Precisely,” Waverly responded. He flicked a switch and lowered the video screen from the ceiling. Two photographs appeared side by side.

“This gentlemen, is Miss Fernández in the photo on the left, the image on the right was taken by security in Phoenix and it was purportedly her. Security here had access to that feed, otherwise we would not have been able to do this comparison. Though they resemble each other, they are definitely not the same woman.”

“So an imposter with all the right security codes managed to get past our defenses, surveillance and into the conference without being discovered,” Napoleon exhaled, a long sigh of exasperation. He knew this wasn’t good at all. 

“All in an attempt to eliminate the members of Section I.”

“It was surmised the quake in Arizona was due to natural causes,” Illya said, however, after researching our location I discovered there are no major fault lines that run across the Phoenix metro area, but there are other faults in the state where a major earthquake could hit.”

“Could it be possible the explosions triggered the seismic activity and were unrelated to the woman accessing File 40?” Napoleon asked. “A mere coincidence as it would have been difficult for anyone to have built the device, transport, drill and use it in such a short period of time.”

“I do not believe in coincidences,”Illya said.

“Neither do I young man,” Waverly huffed. “I suspect the missing woman was merely a ruse, meant for us to think Miss Fernández is dead. Her doppleganger is most likely the one who planted the explosive device. It’s time to find the real Agent Fernández and see what she’s up to. I’m sending you two to Rio on the next available commercial flight, as our Learjets are currently in use ferrying members of Section I around the globe.”


	2. Chapter 2

###  **Rio de Janeiro**  


Napoleon walked into the Copacabana Palace hotel where they’d been booked to stay while on their assignment. It was a beachfront location, but there’d be no time to enjoy the surf, the sand or the sometimes topless beauties sunbathing there. He was well aware the women of Rio were far less inhibited than their American counterparts.

He smiled, recalling the near nakedness of the ladies festooned in their sequined and feathered costumes for Carnivale as they wiggled and jiggled their bodies while on the floats in the many parades.

  
  
  


The Copacabana was something in its heyday and it still wasn’t bad, but the place, like a classy old dame, was showing her age. After Brasília became the Brazilian capital in 1960, the hotel underwent a period of slow decline so the rates suited the UNCLE budget.

Illya was a few steps behind his partner as they walked the long the hallway towards their room when the building suddenly began to shake.

They both dropped their suitcases and reached out, steadying themselves against the walls and as quickly as the event happened, it was over.

“Tremor,” Illya blandly announced. “Not to worry, earthquakes are extremely rare in Brazil, though there is the occasional rattle, usually offshore. It may not be anything nefarious.”

“From your mouth to God’s ear...either way, I could do without them.” Napoleon slipped the key into the lock of their suite and opened the door to their surprisingly comfortable accommodations.

“And how do we know it’s not someone testing out a device they built from the stolen plans?” Napoleon asked.

“As you said yourself to Mr. Waverly, one could not be built that fast, it is a complicated machine with delicate electronics and microcircuitry. Now tell me again, how you managed this room with twin beds? Accounting would not have approved it.” Illya groused. “We usually end up in a dive on the outskirts of whatever city we are in as we did in Phoenix.”

“I pulled a few strings. So, you don’t want to stay here?” 

“I did not say that,” Illya replied as he flopped down onto one of the beds. 

The nearly thirteen hour flight from New York had been quite taxing, as the plane experienced a fair amount of turbulence. Changing altitude affected cabin pressure and every child and infant on board was screaming and crying. Obviously they could not understand what was causing their discomfort, though their mothers and the stewardesses tried their best to calm them down. 

When they landed and Illya walked down the stairs to the macadam and the heat hit him in the face like a heavy wet cloth. 

The South American temperatures never agreed with Kuryakin and now he was queasy from the tremor. It had triggered his motion sickness, though he said nothing about it to Napoleon.

“Still Illya, don’t you find it strange that Miss Fernández stole information relating to a THRUSH device that could trigger earthquakes, and we experienced one in Phoenix and now another just a few minutes ago?” Solo asked as he hung up his suit jacket. 

“As discussed with Mister Waverly, I do not believe in coincidences. It makes me think it is THRUSH definitely revisiting their plan with or without Miss Fernández’s help. There is not enough information to make that determination yet and being a pragmatist, I will reserve judgement until I have more facts. Technically speaking what we just experienced here was not an earthquake, as I said it was a tremor.”

“A simple no would have been sufficient.” 

Illya smiled, satisfied that he had annoyed his partner enough. He sat up, removing his suit jacket and tossed it haphazardly across a nearby chair.

“Do you have to be such a slob?” Napoleon said, taking the Russian’s jacket and hanging it up as well.”

Illya shrugged and announced that some food was in order. He figured it might help with the queasiness as that little tremblor triggered it, but he wasn’t about to tell his partner that.

Napoleon wasn’t surprised at the statement, as his partner was always hungry. 

“I’ll order room service, anything in particular you want?”

Illya rolled over on his bed, thinking for a minute.

”Baked Pastitsio with ground beef and bécganel sauce.”

“Pastitsio? Is it similar to the Italian _pasticcio di pasta_?”

“I believe so.”

“That’s it? Eating rather light aren’t you?”

“Well, maybe some _ polenta _ with sausage, and order _ chicha _ as well...and ginger ale.”

“That sounds more like you,” Napoleon grinned as he picked up the telephone receiver. “Wait, ginger ale?”

Illya had closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. If left alone long enough he probably would have dozed off. 

Sleep would probably help improve the way he felt.

Napoleon shook his head. Sometimes he really hated the way his partner could just nod off like that at the drop of a hat.

*****

They left the hotel after eating and immediately headed to the Rio field office, going straight to see the Section head, Raphael Oliveira. 

It was a small facility with only a few Section III operatives, though there was Miss Fernández’s office as she oversaw File 40 for all of South America. 

This field office was hidden behind a shop that sold trinkets and souvenirs to the touristas. 

Just as in every other office there was a receptionist area where visitors received their badges. Security was the same as in every other location as badges required they be touched with a special chemical. It was in an inkpad and the receptionist transferred it with her fingertips to the badge before it was pinned on the visitor. 

If not done, the alarms would sound and everyone would descend upon the supposed intruder.

“Welcome gentlemen,” Oliveira saw them into his private office.” Good to see you again. We always seem to meet under problematic circumstances involving UNCLE, do we not? Last time I saw you, you were dealing with General Machado and his lunatic daughter Letiticia. I believe you had issues with her a second time Mister Kuryakin. *

“That is in the past. We are here to discuss the present,” Illya pressed a finger to the bridge of his nose and let it slide upwards, pausing in the middle of his forehead where it remained for a minute or so. It made him look rather contemplative, but in truth he had a headache.

The General and his daughter were a memory he did not wish to revisit. They were life threatening situations, as well as bizarre, one of which that led to him nearly being mummified for the third time in his life; an Egyptian cult in Brazil, of all places. What were the odds?** 

Napoleon saw his partner’s discomfort but said nothing, instead he directed his attention to Oliveira.

“Yes Senhor, that does seem to be the case.”

“Please, call me Raphael. We have been through much together; if I may call you Napoleon and you Illya?

They both nodded their approval.

“What have you discovered so far about Senhorita Fernández?” Illya asked.

“She has gone missing, but that is no surprise. Our agents checked her apartment and found she’d packed up a good portion of her belongings and presumably had taken them with her, or had them shipped off. Where, we do not know. We still do not know if she willingly compromised File 40 or was coerced into doing so.”

“Coercion?” Illya asked. “I wonder what or who could have possibly made her do it. I am fairly confident that no one was standing there was holding a gun to her head while she accessed the File 40 computer terminal...you have checked your security tapes, I presume?”

“You are correct. There was no one with her.”

“Any unusual interaction with employees? Anyone new?” Solo asked.

“We have already checked. There are no new personnel and everyone has been thoroughly vetted. We have video of her accessing computer terminal; I repeat no one was with her.”

Illya nodded, a wry smile on his lips. He was usually right. Miss Fernández was an intelligence agent and if anyone was working with her, she’d keep that secret or she would have disabled the cameras.

It suddenly dawned on him that she would have known she was being recorded on a security camera when she accessed the terminal. That he found odd as she made no effort to hide her actions.

Napoleon saw his partner’s expression and gave him an annoyed look.

Always reading up ahead of time, Illya continued,

“Her file indicated she has no family, so no one to threaten. She was a long term member of the UNCLE Intelligence Section, and records show that she was an exemplary agent. Until now her record has been impeccable.”

“Money,” Napoleon suggested. “Not necessarily coercion but more like a lure. Our feathered friends are very good at dangling carrots in front of people’s noses to draw them into the fold, especially when THRUSH can get something they’ve lost back in their possession.”

“Prior to the File 40 incident, the Senhorita _ had _ been letting comments slip to a few of her co-workers about making some sort of investment, but what it was, she did not say. Her bank records showed no exorbitant deposits, though a passbook savings account containing a fair amount of money had been cleaned out at the time of her disappearance. Still it was not more than a person with her pay grade could have put aside. Senhorita Fernández was known for being rather frugal.”

Napoleon couldn’t resist smiling as he glanced at his partner when he heard that word, though to him Illya was more of a cheapskate.

Kuryakin saw that ‘look’ but chose to ignore it.

“Raphael, may we check the terminal that she accessed?” Illya asked.

“Oh but of course, though it has been checked and was not tampered with. At present it has been shut down.”

“What do you think you’ll find?” Napoleon asked.

“Not sure. Indulge me please,” Illya rose from his chair.

They were escorted to the File 40 terminal, and Illya eyeballed it first, looking for some sort of clue.

“Raphael, do you have an ultraviolet lamp?”

“Why yes we do.”

One of the agents arrived with a pole lamp and immediately plugged it in and set it down on the floor beside the terminal.

Kuryakin leaned the fixture over, slowly guiding the light over the keyboard and found seven keys had been touched with a substance that made them glow blue. Without the light they were invisible to the naked eye.

“She must have had something on her fingertips to do this,” he said, though he had no idea what. There were a number of things that could cause fluorescence under a black light such as tonic water, vitamins A or B dissolved with vinegar, body fluids such as urine. It didn’t matter what her method was, though doing this was quite clever. It was the message she was leaving that was of importance.

Illya quickly put the letters together, like an anagram.

“These keys have been marked,” he said.” The letters, if you put them in some semblance of order spell out the words,_ help me.” _

The doors to the room opened and a shapely dark haired secretary, who immediately caught Solo’s eye, rushed in holding a sheet of paper.

_ “Desculpe, Senhor, _” she immediately switched to English, “A check with all the airlines departing Rio revealed Senhorita Fernández booked herself on a flight to Chile. She listed her destination as San Resendo. It left early this morning.”

“I guess that’s our cue to leave,” Napoleon stood.   
  
“Could you please book us on the next available flight to San Resendo, Raphael?” Illya asked.

_ “Sim. Imediatamente Senhores. That is very close to another UNCLE field office in Concepción."_

They had to hustle back to the hotel to grab their suitcases and make their flight. Once settled in on the plane they spoke in whispers as to where to begin. They’d have to check all the hotels, and hopefully she registered under her own name, just like she did when booking her flight.

“She wasn’t very careful booking her flight under her real name,” Napoleon said. “Being in the intelligence division, she’d have to know we’d check the airlines.”

“I wonder if she is leaving us a breadcrumb trail after her cry for help?” Illya asked

“Help from whom or what?” Napoleon said. “ I guess we’ll find out soon enough." 

Soon enough meant another twelve hour flight, now to Chile; they hadn’t caught up from the flight down to Rio and right now they were running on empty.

The stewardess came around taking drink orders but this time both agents passed. Instead they opted to sleep as they hadn’t had much time to recoup from their flight to Rio, and now here they were in the air again for a long flight. 

They were lucky to get one of the few non-stops to Chile, from there they’d have travel to _ Concepción,_ as they were going to need help, as much as they could get.

  
  


*** ref “The escape from the edge of the world affair” **

**** ref “The Rio Affair”**

  



	3. Chapter 3

After landing, they caught a taxi and wearily made their way to _ Concepción, _and another hotel. 

Again they’d settled in, preparing to map out the locations of the hotels in the vicinity of San Rosendo before heading to the field office, though they’d contacted Miguel Garcia the Senior agent in charge asking him to have all hands on deck for a meeting within the hour. 

Miguel and his crew were doing their own bit as well to track down the missing agent.

Even if Fernández was being that obvious and leaving a trail for them to follow, it was going to be time consuming, and possibly a wild goose chase. 

Before Solo could say another word to Illya, he felt a vibration under his feet, followed by a loud crack. 

Everything around him began to shake, and the chandelier in the sitting room swung violently in the air. The ceramic table lamps teetered and fell to the floor with a crash, smashing them to pieces.

Illya woke with a start as his bed suddenly rocked back and forth. 

“Napoleon stop joking around. You know I do not feel well.” He didn’t want to tell his partner how actually ill he felt as that might result in him being sent back to New York. He had to see this assignment through.

The bed suddenly went flying across the floor and none too gently, that immediately sent the Russian to his feet and dashing to the door once he realized what was happening.

“Napoleon!”

“I know, earthquake!” 

Both men stood in the bathroom doorway; there was no where else to go, nothing to duck under, and retreating at the moment wasn’t wise as they were on a third floor.

The shaking went on endlessly, or so it seemed, but finally subsided. 

Both men grabbed their jackets as they already had what they needed on them, their guns, communicators, wallets and passports...to hell with their clothing. 

Dashing out into the hallway, they were met by other guests who looked terrified. One woman knelt with a child in her arms, crying uncontrollably as she huddled against the door to their room.

The rumbling began again and now screams filled the air.

“Come, _ Cuál es tu nombre?” _”Illya lifted the child, a little dark haired boy maybe six years of age.

“It’s Peter and I speak English too.”

“Well Peter, we must get out of the building now. Hang on tight.”

Napoleon put his arm around the woman’s waist, holding one of her trembling hands in his as he got her to her feet.

“It’ll be all right, we’ll be fine.”

“Do not leave me?” She was shaking and nearly frozen with fear. .

“I promise I won’t. Just calm down and remember to breathe.” 

They slowly moved down the corridor, one step at a time.

“Wait where’s my Lily? I must get her!” She suddenly gasped. “I could not carry both of them...my husband, he is downstairs. Oh God! _ Santa Madre!” _

Napoleon knew instantly there was a problem as Illya was carrying a little boy.”

“I heard,” Kuryakin, who was behind his partner, handed the boy to him. “Go, I will find the girl.”

“Room 309!” The mother called out.

Not waiting for an argument from Napoleon, Illya dashed back to the woman’s room. Just as he pushed open the door, there was another loud bang; it was a strong aftershock and the room shook wildly for a few seconds. Illya lost his balance as he tried to walk, sending him landing hard against a desk.

As soon as he hit, he knew he’d cracked a rib or two and he hissed at the pain.

The shaking ended and steadying himself on his feet, he continued his search.

“Lily? Where are you?” Hearing no response, he switched to Spanish.”_ Dónde está usted Chiquita? Your mama sent me to find you Lily?” _

In the noise that surrounded him, screams, and sirens going off in the streets below, he at last heard a little whimper.

The bed, she was under the bed. He gingerly lowered himself to the floor, lifting up the bed cover, and then the skirt.

Peeking out at him were the biggest tear-filled brown eyes he had ever seen.

_“Hola Lily, mi nombre es Illya._” He tried English again. “Would you like to go to your mama now? She sent me to get you. She is waiting for you with your brother. 

“Where’s my daddy?” She whimpered.”I want my daddy!”

“I will take you to him, but we must hurry before things begin to shake again. Yes?”

He reached under the bed with his hand, offering it to the child but she wouldn’t take it. The position he was in was causing him a fair amount of pain.

“Mama said I must never go with a stranger.”

“But I am not a stranger. You know my name, right?”

“Yes, “she sniffled.”It’s Ill-ee-ya.” 

He nodded his head; close enough. 

“That is right, and you are Lily. So now we know each other.” It was simple enough logic, and there was no time to reason with her further.

The child reached out, taking his hand and he quickly pulled her from her hiding place. He held her close to him, burying her face tightly against his chest while trying to ignore the pain in his side.

“Now you stay just like that Lily, do not peek. You open your eyes when I tell you and that will be when it is time to see your family. Understand?”

He felt the little head nod, and he cupped his hand around it, feeling her long dark curls in his fingers.

Everything began to shake wildly again, and this time it was no aftershock. It was a strong one, and as he hurried along the hallway, moving like a drunken sailor, cracks began to appear in the walls, and bits of ceiling started to fall about him. 

It was all Illya could do to maintain his balance as he made it to the stairwell, and start his descent amidst the dust and rubble. The walls there had begun crumbling as well some of the steps, and now he smelled smoke.

There was a fire somewhere below perhaps cutting off his exit and he retreated to the second floor entrance. 

He kicked open one of the doors and made a beeline amidst the scattered luggage and furniture to the bathroom. 

A pipe was broken with water shooting out from the wall; it was exactly what he needed.

“Lily we are going to get wet and wash off all this dust with the water, so you are all pretty again. It will help us get down faster to mama and daddy.

The dazed child nodded as he let the water soak the two of them, and grabbing two large towels; he soaked them as well. One he wrapped around Lily the other he draped over his head and shoulders.

He pulled his communicator, calling Napoleon.

“Illya where are you?”

“On the second floor. I have the child and am trying to get down, but there is smoke coming up the stairwell.”

“I’ll try to find a fire extinguisher and meet you tovarisch! Out.”

Illya returned to the stairwell hoping their being wet would be enough if they came too near to any flames. He started down, trying not to slip on the debris; coughing now from the rising smoke.

He could feel the heat, as he was almost down to the first floor. Flames shot upwards, driving him back, as Lily screamed. 

“It’s hot it’s hot!” She squirmed, knocking his communicator from his free hand; it disappeared among the debris.

_ “Chyort! _ Illya cursed in Russian. There was no time to look for it.

“I know little cabbage. I am sorry, I know it is frightening you. Lily, we are almost there. Just keep your eyes closed.” He broke out into another fit of coughing as the smoke and dust assaulted his lungs.

That made the pain in his side even worse.

“Illya!” Napoleon shouted. He’d found an extinguisher and used it in the stairwell, though it would only hold the flames at bay for so long.

The building shook yet again as he made it up to the second floor landing. 

**“Illya!**”

He spotted a dark mass huddled on the floor. Kuryakin was hunched over the child, protecting her with his body. He’d wrapped both towels around the child.

“Come on!” Solo shouted as he grabbed his partner by the collar of his jacket, pulling him to his feet.

Together they made it down to the lobby and out to the street, there to the waiting mother and brother. Yet the reunion had to wait as the ground shook again; this time taking down the front of the hotel. It collapsed in an avalanche of concrete and steel.

They’d made it out just in time.

At last the ground ceased its upheaval and Lily was finally handed over to the arms of her mother.

“Where’s daddy? I was scared,” the child said, “but Ill-ee-ya helped. He’s a nice man.”

“Yes he is.” The woman reached out her hand, offering it to the Russian. “_ Gracias _ , thank you _ Señor _ Ill-ee-ya.”

_ “De nada. _ She is a lovely child, _ Señora _ and very brave,” Illya leaned back against a chunk of concrete, holding his side.

“You are hurt _ Señor _?”

He waved her off. _ “No no, estoy bien.” _

“Marguerite!” A man shouted; he was covered in dust as he ran towards them.

“John!” She cried out as she and her children were enveloped in her husband’s arms. She quickly told him of their rescue.

“John O’Hanlon, assistant to Ambassador Bernbaum at the U.S. Embassy in Caracas,”he introduced himself. 

“I was just assigned there.” 

He looked at the hotel, or what was left of it. “I never had good timing... Thank you seems inadequate for saving my wife and children.“ He offered his hand to Solo.

“Napoleon Solo sir, my partner Mr. Kuryakin and I are with the U.N.C.L.E. and it was pure luck we were nearby when this happened. I’m just glad we were able to help.”

Solo hesitated.” Sir might you and your family want to stick with us?”

“No, but thank you for the offer but I have to get back to the Embassy for obvious reasons, if it’s still standing. I fear there’s been a major loss of life with this earthquake, and the accounting of Americans will have to start immediately. I’m sure the embassy is eventually going to be inundated with calls from worried family members back home in the U.S. Shouldn’t I make the same offer Mr. Solo and have you gentlemen come with us?”

“Thank you sir but no.”

O’Hanlon was surprised at the answer. Then again these two men were secret agents, and who knew what they had on their agenda or what sort of support network they had here. 

“Good luck to you both then.”

“And to you as well sir.” Napoleon gave him a little salute

That was his cue to leave, and turning to his partner; he caught Illya in a grimace, holding his hand to his side.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“As good a liar you are sometimes you can be a bad liar too, tovarisch,”Napoleon held out his hand, offering to help Kuryakin to his feet.

Illya accepted it with a grunt

“You did good partner,” Napoleon said. “Now let’s find you some help and get you fixed up.”

“There are people in need of more assistance than I. We should to see to _ them.” _

“Well if you keel over, you’re no good to me or them are you?”

Illya let a groan escape as he took a deep breath. “Well, maybe. I think might have some cracked ribs.”

Napoleon winced at hearing that. For Illya to admit that, it meant he was in a serious amount of pain. It must have hurt like hell carrying the little girl down those stairs and he was lucky he didn’t puncture a lung, as the ribs could be broken that badly. Only an x-ray would give the answer to that question. On top of that the Russian had complained about not feeling well prior to the quake, whatever that meant?

He made his partner lean against what was left of a parked car, and snapping his finger he ordered Illya to raise his arms as best he could. 

Napoleon gently lifted up his jacket and shirt; he hissed as he saw a multitude of colors blossoming on the Russian’s pale skin, there was a small laceration that was bleeding as well. 

“Oh boy. This doesn’t look good.”

“I will be fine. A _ farmacia _was around the corner, if it is still standing. I just need are some ace bandages, tape and perhaps aspirin. That will do for now. These people…”Illya winced as he pointed at the poor souls wandering the street. We must help them.”

Napoleon shook his head. His stubborn partner was right but not completely. He needed care as well.


	4. Chapter 4

“Well, let’s get to that pharmacy to see what we can find, hmm?” Napoleon crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping it was still standing. If it was, no doubt others would have the same idea of heading there.

Solo helped Illya along but it was slow going with debris and people blocking their way. Some were trying to dig through the wreckage to find a loved ones, others were sitting on the ground holding their heads in shock. Screams and cries continued to pierce the air as did sirens.

All the faces looked the same as they were grey, covered in the dust from the fallen buildings, except for those who were injured and bloodied.

They finally found the _ farmacia _, and luckily it had suffered minimal damage; outside the staff were setting up it a triage station until the Red Cross and the military arrived.

Napoleon got the needed supplies and after cleaning the cut on Illya’s side, he found it didn’t need stitches and merely bandaged it with a piece of gauze and tape. He wrapped Kuryakin’s ribs as best he could, but told his partner to take it easy before he killed himself.

“No more lifting, got it?”

“Is that an order or a request?”

“Both.”

They remained at the triage site, doing what they could to help as they had basic first aid training. Illya volunteered to do cleaning, stitching and bandaging of wounds and setting splints. Thankfully abrasions and minor breaks were mostly the injuries they’d seen so far.

Napoleon helped sort through the injured, moving the patients to tables and chairs for treatment; he laid or sat them down on the ground afterwards, helping to tag them for identification.

As word spread of the small help available, families carrying their dying loved ones arrived, but there was little that could be done for them.

They were laid on sheets and blankets in the street and made as comfortable as possible until they passed. Those were the ID tags that Solo most regretted having to write.

He had to ask questions in Spanish of the grieving; names, date of birth, where they were from. It wasn’t easy.

Somewhere in their escape from the hotel, Napoleon’s communicator had gone missing as had Illya’s. When the triage slowed to a trickle; Solo spotted someone trying to write a note with a familiar silver pen, and confiscated it, handing them a pencil in exchange.

At last was able to contact headquarters.

“Open channel D- overseas relay. Priority.”

“You’re alive, thank goodness,” Lisa Rogers answered. “Hold for Mr. Waverly.’’

“Mr. Solo, I was becoming concerned as our office in _ Concepción _ has been decimated by the earthquake, with but a few survivors. The destruction is wide spread and it’s being estimated that casualties are in the hundreds of thousands. We’re making arrangements for a helicopter to retrieve our people and the rendezvous point at the _ Plaza de la Independencia _in two days time. Dare I say it was most fortuitous the earthquake seemed to have had its origins inland and not offshore. If that had been the case, there would most assuredly had been a sizable tsunami and we might not be having this conversation at all as the city would have been under water. “

“Thank goodness for small favors,” Napoleon mumbled.

“You will be transported to _ San Rafael _ and eventually on to _ Buenos Aires. _ I am having you sent to neighboring Argentina as there is a fault line that runs the length of Chile. It is well within the realm of possibility that there will be more quakes moving northward, so better you move east.” Waverly hesitated. “ Now, get yourselves to the rendezvous and quickly gentlemen. Godspeed. Waverly out.”

The Red Cross arrived in a flurry of activity. Tents were set up with cots for the seriously injured, but there wasn’t enough space for everyone. Many remained on the ground with only blankets and sheets beneath them. There were doctors in white coats, as well as nurses, and armed soldiers bringing order to the growing crowds.

Everything seemed well in hand, or at least as best as could be under the circumstances, and that made it easier for the UNCLE agents to finally leave. 

They continued on foot, slowly making their way to the extraction point at Independence Square where presumably there’d be ample room for a chopper to land. 

It was difficult to know which way to go as the landscape looked so different. It was also slow going with Illya having to take frequent rests stops; it wasn’t easy for him to breathe deeply with his chest wrapped, as well as being in pain. He didn’t look good at all.

The one thing Napoleon made sure was to keep his partner hydrated, since they had a canteen which he procured at the pharmacy.There was no food to be had, and that wasn’t helping the Russian’s condition.

Illya stopped again, trying to catch his breath and holding his side. 

“Napoleon perhaps you should just go on and leave me. I can go back to the Red Cross. I will find a way out.”

Solo sat down beside him, taking a small mouthful of water from the canteen and offering it again to the Russian.

Illya waved it off. “I am fine. Really Napoleon you must stop being such a mother hen when it comes to me.”

“Look, this ‘leave me behind thing’ just isn’t going to work. How many times have you told me to do that and I’ve refused again and again. You’re my friend and friends don’t abandon each other.” He continued to hold out the canteen until Illya finally took it and drank from it.

“I would leave you if I had to,” Illya coldly said.

“As I said, you can be a really bad liar sometimes; now, more water,” Napoleon insisted, “and here, eat this.” He held out an apple.

“Where did you get that?”

“The same place I found this one,” he pulled another from his other pocket,” They were on the ground.”

After pouring a small amount of water on his clean handkerchief Napoleon wiped off both pieces of fruit, that was about as sanitary as things would get for the moment.

They sat in silence for a few minutes eating their precious apples, and though they were both ravenous they took their time savoring every bite. By the time they were done there was nothing left but the pips and a barely recognizable core.

“Come on pal, alley-oop!” Napoleon offered his hand, carefully hefting Illya to his feet. “It can’t be much farther.”

Illya stood, a little unsteady at first. “Why did you use this phrase alley-oop? It is derived from the French term _ allez hop! _ Which is the cry of a circus acrobat about to leap and I am in no shape to do that, though I am completely capable of acrobatics when I am able...”

“Illya?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to say this as nicely as I can. Please shut up.”

Kuryakin showed no reaction other than to simply shrug; he would keep silent as requested. His increasing pain would keep him occupied. He was still not feeling well, but as that being related to his nausea from the earthquake remained to be seen. He was actually ill, but from what he had no idea. Not a cold, something more than that. A virus perhaps?

As night fell Napoleon led his exhausted partner to a grassy knoll, joining a multitude of others choosing to sleep there for fear of being indoors if another quake hit.

There had been aftershocks and tremors enough throughout the day to spook anyone into thinking that.

As he helped Illya lower himself down, Napoleon pointed a finger at him. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”  
  
“I think you can count on that,” he groaned as he laid back, resting on his elbows. 

The grass smelled sweet and refreshing. The dust and debris had been pretty much everywhere, along with the acrid smell of burning wreckage. The odor of decomposition was there as well; a foul reminder of the countless who had died. 

Illya recalled such odors from his childhood when he was a prisoner in the concentration camp outside Kyiv; those memories would never leave him. The smell of rotting flesh was nauseating and anyone who’d never experienced it would reel from it or even wretch upon encountering it, unless they had a strong constitution.

Napoleon returned with a couple of blankets, fresh water in the canteen and several packets of C-rations given to him by a nearby Red Cross worker who had just about run out of everything. 

“Tonight we feast tovarisch,” He flopped down beside Kuryakin.

Illya wearily lifted his head and watched as Solo opened the rations. 

“Let’s see, we have chocolate bars, crackers, tins of jam. Canned peaches, and canned mystery meat with beans.” 

Illya slowly raised himself up to a seated position, trying, but unsuccessfully, to hide his discomfort.

“I suggest we save the peaches for breakfast, as well as the chocolate bars. Crackers, jam, the meat and beans for tonight.”

“Agreed.” Napoleon quickly opened the two cans, handing one to his partner as well as a small wooden spoon. “Save the spoon by the way.”

Illya opened his crackers and spread some jam on one, swallowing it with a satisfied sigh.

“What, not saving that for dessert?”

The Russian flashed him an ‘are you kidding me’ look as he inhaled another cracker; it was actually the sweet jam he was craving. His metabolism was off kilter and he was running on empty now; he figured the carbohydrates and sugar would help boost his blood glucose, if even temporarily. Tomorrow the peaches and chocolate would serve the same purpose.

They both dug into their main course with enthusiasm.

“Not bad, though I’m afraid to look at the date on these rations,” Napoleon said.

“Food is food, as long as it has not gone bad; your nose will tell you that, or you could always search out some grubs in the grass,”Illya snickered.

“Don’t remind me please,” he cringed.

“If you have forgotten how to eat them, I could teach you again.” 

“No, thank you. Hey I don’t notice you scrambling to dig any up and nosh on them, _ tovarisch _.”

“Just because I have eaten grubs does not mean I like them. As I once told you, they are a good source of protein, but not flavor,” he added with a snicker.

After finishing their meal, they each topped it off with a swig from the canteen. Napoleon drew a couple of white tablets from his pocket, holding them out in front of Illya’s face.

“And those are?”

“Only aspirin. The Red Cross worker gave me a few. Now take them, no arguments for once.”

Illya snatched them from his hand and wordlessly popped them into his mouth, dry swallowing them. That told Napoleon how bad the Russian was feeling as he never took any sort of medication without protest.

Wrapping themselves in their blankets, they huddled together for extra warmth as the temperatures were dropping. The blankets pulled over their heads let their breath provide additional warmth.

This time of year the weather was hot during the day and quite cold at night; they were lucky it hadn’t rained. No one wanted to go indoors to escape that, much less the cold as the aftershocks were continuing.

Everytime one happened during the night there were screams and the cries of children. 

Neither agent slept well, in spite of how exhausted as they both were.


	5. Chapter 5

They rose with the sun, though it was pretty cloudy and overcast; together they ate their peaches in silence. The chocolate would be saved for later.

Napoleon walked over to a broken pipe, topping off the canteen and returned to Illya, handing him two more aspirin.

“This time take them with some water. You need to stay hydrated.”

Illya did as he was told, though he coughed after swallowing the water. Napoleon didn’t like his pallor as he was pale but flushed.

“Here drink more water.”

“I am fine.” 

“Illya, drink!”

Kuryakin swallowed a good amount this time, though he didn’t want to admit he was quite thirsty. 

“Now if you’ll indulge me tovarisch?” Napoleon leaned over, placing his hand on his partner’s forehead; making an immediate face.

“And your prognosis Doctor Solo?”

“You have a fever.”

“I could have told you that,” Illya began to cough again.”My eyes always have a burning sensation when I am running a temperature, although I was not completely sure this time because of the dust and dirt in the air.”

“Well there’s not much we can do about it. Hopefully the aspirin will help.”

Suddenly there was a collective moan, and some women screamed, while blessing themselves with the sign of the cross again and again as they pointed, _ “Concepción de la Madre Santísima de la Luz ruega por nosotros! _” 

It meant ‘_ Conception of the Blessed Mother of Light pray for us; _ the actual name of the city of _ Concepción. _

In the distance, there were strange lights looking like flickering flames or floating glowing orbs hovering in the air just above the ground.

“Napoleon those are earthquake lights and are purported to appear during or before seismic events. They have been associated with several of the world's greatest quakes, including two days before the Great San Francisco earthquake. Most seismologists have not believed these lights to be real as reports of them have all been mostly anecdotal and difficult to explain physically.”

He remained motionless for a moment, staring at them with the others.

“You mean there could be a worse quake yet to come tovarisch?”

“Your guess is as good as mine my friend, but perhaps as a precaution, we should try to move more quickly today. I am feeling better in spite of this fever.” Illya was lying through his teeth.

Napoleon helped him to his feet and together they began the last leg of their journey. Just to get their bearings as many landmarks were destroyed, they asked a passing man who was clean and dressed in khakis; he seemed to have not been affected by the quake.

“_Plaza de la Independencia Señor? It is but a fifteen minute walk in that direction,“ he pointed. _

“Pardon me for asking sir, but how is it you seem to be so clean and neatly dressed when everyone else looks like...us?” Napoleon asked.

“My home is not far from here, and luckily it suffered little damage. I left my wife and family there and am going in search of my brother who lives that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction.” Did you come from there?”

“Yes,”Napoleon nodded. “I’ll warn you, it’s not good. There’s a possibility there may be another big earthquake coming.”

“Really?” He blessed himself. “I do not know how you know this Señor but thank you. I think perhaps it is wise I return to my family. God go with you _ mis amigos.” _He handed Napoleon a paper sack, insisting he take it. 

Solo looked inside it, seeing several oranges and apples.

_“Gracias!”_ He called out to the man who had taken off at a run. “Well the Lord giveth.”

He reached into the bag and pulled out an orange, handing it to Kuryakin who peeling it in seconds and practically inhaled it.

Napoleon didn’t partake, thinking it best to keep most of the fruit for his partner. Maybe the vitamin C would do him some good.

They headed off in the direction they’d been told. Illya was trying to put a good leg under it but was faltering, even with the boost from the orange, he was feeling worse. His side was hurting badly; the fever and nausea were getting to him as well.

There was another sudden aftershock, this one more powerful than many that had occurred during the night.

“Come on Illya you can do it,”Napoleon latched onto his wobbling partner, helping him along.

Finally the plaza was in sight, and there they expected to meet the survivors from the UNCLE field office. 

Napoleon had been in contact with them as they’d they’d been brought there by truck; they were awaiting the New York agent's arrival, and insisted they wouldn’t let the chopper leave without Solo and Kuryakin.

Napoleon and Illya finally made it to their destination, meeting the others near a monument set in the middle of a reflecting pool. 

Standing untouched on a tall pedestal was the statue of the goddess Ceres, the Roman symbol of agricultural fertility. In the column beneath her were four imposing iron lanterns, and four core sirens blowing their conch shells that provided water to the pool.

It was surrounded by a beautiful garden filled with small trees, as well as red and pink flowering vines of the Chilean bellflower. It all was surreally unaffected by the destruction surrounding it.

“Solo!” A man called out to him. It was Miguel Garcia, the Section Chief. His right arm was in a sling, and he was battered and bruised.

Five others were there, one in bad shape, was lying on a cot that had been used as a stretcher; her head and face covered with bandages, and both arms were in primitive splints. The remaining agents looked shell shocked, to say the least.

Napoleon shook hands with the man, introducing he and Illya to each other. The others he didn’t know and they looked so miserable that he didn’t want to bother them. 

“Mister Kuryakin,” Miguel shook Illya’s hand, feeling his temperature wasn’t normal. “You do not look so good yourself Señor, please we have a cot on which we have been trading off sleeping on it; be my guest.”

Illya was about to refuse when Napoleon flashed him a warning glance.

“Thank you Miguel, I will take you up on that offer.”

“It will come as a surprise to you that the woman lying on the stretcher is the one for whom you have been searching.”

“Fernández?” 

“It has been verified, it is she,” Miguel said.

Napoleon didn’t bother asking how she’d been found. There were other questions he’d ask later when they got to a hospital.

Less than an hour later a Huey helicopter bearing the UNCLE vector emblazoned on the fuselage arrived as promised. It landed on the perimeter of the plaza and quickly loaded everyone onboard.

In total a half dozen employees from the field office were killed or missing, as best as they could figure. In the coming days as rescue efforts became recovery, they would know for sure if anyone else survived or not.

Lastly Illya was helped on board, as he insisted everyone else be taken care of before him. Napoleon knelt to give him a leg up and at that exact moment the ground began to shake.

Without waiting, he grabbed Kuryakin, shoving him up none too gently by the rump onto the chopper and jumped in after him.

“Punch it!” Solo yelled to the pilots.

Though on unsteady ground the hilo took off just in time to give the passengers a view of the ground as it undulated. Plant life and earth flew into the air, more buildings collapsed sending up clouds of dust as this was most likely the ‘big one.’

They circled low, watching as the ground rippled like waves.

The chopper hadn’t climbed high enough to really survey the devastation that was taking place, when suddenly debris flew into the air, catching the helicopter rotors. The sound of the engine grinding as it struggling lasted for a few seconds, then stopped. 

Lights on the control panel flashed their warning, accompanied by a constant beeping that alerted the pilots they were going to crash.

One of them quickly got off a mayday. It all happened so quickly that they didn’t know if anyone heard their distress call.

**“HANG ON EVERYONE! WE’RE GOING DOWN!” **The pilot shouted.

The helicopter hit hard, skidding to a stop and turning on its side as the rotors each slammed into the ground, sending pieces of them flying everywhere.

The earth was still shaking and ripplings as those who were still conscious scrambled to escape the vehicle.

Napoleon pulled himself up with one arm as the other was broken. Blood was trickling down his face from a scalp wound.

As he surveyed the situation he saw the pilots were dead, decapitated by the helicopter blades. There were bodies piled on top of one another, some of them were moaning.

**“Illya!”** Solo called out. He helped move the injured as best he could. Pulling the dead aside, he finally found the Russian at the bottom of the pile.

Feeling for a pulse, Napoleon breathed a sigh of relief that his partner was still alive. With the help of they pulled Illya and the living from the wreckage.

Once away from the remains of the chopper, they regrouped, and a headcount was taken.

Garcia and two of his people survived, like Solo, Miguel had a head wound, the other survivors weren’t as lucky.

They’d pulled Fernández from the wreckage but it was obvious, she was dying.

“Why? Why did you betray UNCLE?” Napoleon whispered to her.

“To save my son,” she rasped.” UNCLE knew nothing of him. Somehow THRUSH found out and took my boy. They said they would kill him if I did not do as they asked... promised he would live and they would pay me enough money to start over, free of UNCLE...free of them. They promised…” she broke out in a coughing fit.

“Where is your son?”

“Dead. He- was-killed when tha hotel we were in collapsed. I tried...tried to ask for help. Did you get my message?”

“We did, and we were trying to find you,”Napoleon couldn’t help but say it,”You gave them the plans and look what happened.”

“No, not the real ones. I tricked them, it worked and they gave me back...back my boy. My beautiful Iliario, my poor baby.”

Napoleon’s eyes widened,“You mean this earthquake wasn’t caused by THRUSH?”

“Noooo. I am sorry Napoleon. I should have reported...I should have…”she gasped, taking her last breath.

He bowed his head, and gently closed her eyelids.

The earth began to rumble again, sending everyone scrambling. 

Napoleon dove to protect his partner...


	6. Chapter 6

If the last quake wasn’t the big one, then this one had to be it.

Before he reached Kuryakin, Napoleon lost his footing and hit the ground hard, but he continued moving, crawling towards his partner on his hands and knees.

The earth behind him opened up into a gaping fissure, with anything nearby toppling down into it.

The wreckage of the Huey rolled, the metal groaning as it rolled. As it fell into the chasm there was an explosion, most likely from the fuel tanks. 

The last thing he remembered was feeling nauseous, that and watching the mushroom cloud of orange and red flame erupting from the opening in the ground, just before a piece of concrete hit him in the hea

When he came to, he felt himself rocking and swaying, but it wasn’t from an earthquake; he was wrapped in a blanket and being carried by several men, none of whom he recognized.

His head and face were sticky with blood and dust; when he tried to move his left arm he felt a stabbing pain as he remembered it was broken.. 

Napoleon was taken to a triage station, though where it was, he had no idea.

After receiving stitches in his head, and his arm set and put in a splint, he was sent on his way as there were many others more seriously injured waiting for treatment.

As he exited the tent that served as a hospital, he froze where he stood. Surrounding him was a sea of injured people laying on sheets and blankets. There wasn’t enough help, and some of the dead remained among the living.

He pulled his communicator, using his mouth to help open it and position the gold microphone in place.

“Open Channel F- Miguel Garcia.”

“Napoleon, are you all right?” 

“I’ll be okay. Is Illya with you?”

“I am sorry to say he is not. After the big quake hit I was knocked unconscious. When I awoke, I was in a camp where I received treatment. I have not been able to locate my injured agents either.”

“Miguel are you mobile?”

“Yes, just a big lump on my head and a few stitches.”

“Stay where you are, leave your communicator open so I can home in on your signal and get to you. I have a feeling we’re in the same camp.”

After finding Garcia, the two of them went about the task of locating the missing agents. Solo had a photograph of he and Illya in his pocket, one that Security had taken of them in the middle of a drill at headquarters. They were surrounded by red gas as they stood there with their guns drawn.

Their search continued late into the afternoon when Garcia finally found his agents, but sadly they died of their injuries.

They continued looking for Kuryakin when someone finally recognized him from the photograph; Napoleon was directed to a particular section of where countless bodies laid in the heat of the sun. The smell of death filled the air....

There he finally located his partner.

*******

Illya’s eye fluttered open; he felt nothing at first. Lifting his head he saw that his body was battered and bruised, there was blood everywhere and he was covered in dust. 

He moved his hand to his face, finding his right eye was swollen shut. The Russian tried to move his legs, but nothing seemed to be cooperating. 

The pain finally set in and he realized his legs were broken.

There were voices, but none that he recognized.

He called out, trying to speak; what he thought was the word for help in Spanish, but it came out more like garbled gibberish.

He had no idea how long he laid there in the chaos, until he felt a hand, then many hands gently lifting him, putting him on a makeshift stretcher.

“_ Mi amigo, has visto a mi amigo? _ He switched to English, “ _ My friend, have you seen moy drug?” _ Somehow he knew it wasn’t right. _ “Mi amigo, Napoleón.” _

_ “Trate de no hablar, señor. Shhhhush.” _

He should have been able to understand that, but found he couldn’t, and simply closed his good eye as he was carried off, drifting back off into unconsciousness. 

When he woke, he was surrounded by hundreds of people laying there on the ground. The air was filled with smoke from fires, as well as the stench of death. 

He was finally carried into a tent where someone from the Red Cross treated his wounds. His head and eye were wrapped in white gauze His legs cleaned, and bandaged in long torn strips of cloth tied around makeshift splints and his ribs rewrapped. In this sort of situation there was little else that could be done, that much he knew.

He heard them say they weren’t compound fractures but after that he drifted off again as he’d been given a shot of morphine and antibiotics.

** _“Illya!”_ ** Napoleon called his name while taking his partner by the hand.

“Mmmm? ‘Poleon, what kept you?” He tried sitting up, but failed miserably

Napoleon smiled and lifted Kuryakin’s head; his lips were swollen and chapped. Solo slowly poured water from his canteen into Illya’s mouth. After swallowing it, he closed his eye again.

Waverly was finally contacted, bringing him up to snuff on everything that had happened, including Fernandez and the fact that THRUSH did not have the plans for the earthquake device.

“Mother nature is seemingly the orchestrator of this sad affair,” the Old Man huffed. “I’ll be dispatching another helicopter to your location Mister Solo. Mister Garcia is to accompany you. His deceased agents will be retrieved at another time. Waverly out.”

“That was rather curt,” Garcia said. 

“Not curt, but short,” Napoleon said,”that’s just the way he is.” 

Solo waited patiently for the chopper to arrive, cradling Illya’s limp body in his arms, rocking him gently, Solo whispered words of encouragement to him. He draped his tattered suit jacket hover his head, helping to shield his partner from the sun.

The only thing he could do to comfort his partner was to give him sips of water when he came to and wipe his face down with a damp handkerchief.

Garcia paced back and forth as he didn’t really want to leave his people.

“Miguel, there’s nothing you can do for them.”

“Napoleon would you leave your partner’s body behind?”

“No, I suppose not but in this case we’ll need room for the living, anyone we can take with us who’s really in need of more medical attention than they can receive here.”

“You’re right,” Garcia finally sat down, resigning himself to the truth.

The helicopter finally arrived, bringing with it emergency supplies; taking Solo, Kuryakin and Garcia, and filling the Huey with as many of the seriously injured they could fit. They were heading to Brazil, Sao Paulo to be precise.

As Illya was loaded onto the chopper, Napoleon spoke to him.

“It’s okay buddy, help is here, just hang in there.”

Illya didn’t hear him as he’d slipped into unconsciousness, again.

Once they both received proper medical attention, Napoleon and Illya were sent back to New York and of course the Medical team there insisted upon poking and prodding both men to assure they'd been given the best of care.

After six week's their broken bones were mended well enough. Though, one exam remained for Kuraykin and that was his injured eye. He'd refused treatment in South American but here in New York it was going to be nearly impossible to avoid it. He'd ducked out of it for as long as he could but then the hammer finally fell.

“Mr. Kuryakin!” Dr. Freedman, the optometrist barked. “ I have to examine your eye, now will you please just cooperate for God’s sake?”

“Can you do the eye examination later, I just want to be alone for a bit. I am still feeling a bit out of sorts as my casts just came off. Can you not understand that?”

“All right, but I’ll be back shortly. Understood?”

Doctor Sidney Freedman was an old hand at dealing with men who had been traumatized. While in the army during the Korean War, he was a practicing psychiatrist who saw to the psychic wounds of soldiers and surgeons.

Though the stress finally got to him and he eventually switched his specialty back in the states to opthamology. Definitely less stress there, even when dealing with stubborn UNCLE agents, still he could empathize with them.

“Yes, Doctor and thank you," Illya nodded.

Napoleon walked in just as Doctor Freedman walked out. 

“What’s all the ruction going on here? You being your usual nasty self. I see they took your eye patch off, that’s good.”

“No. Napoleon please come closer...I do not want to say this too loudly.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Napoleon, I am blind in my right eye, “ he whispered dejectedly.

“You mean permanently?”

“Not sure..” 

“Did Sidney tell you.”

“No, he has not examined my eye yet. I would not let him, but I know there is a problem, but it still looks normal, Napoleon. It just does not work. If Freedman reports it, I am washed up as a field agent. This cannot happen; I cannot go back to the Soviet Union. They will kill me, if not I will most certainly be sent to gulag.”

“Look you’re not going anywhere if I can help it. I’ll just have a talk with the doctor and convince...”

_“Nyet_, he cannot be told. Only you know. I want you to help me pass my eye test.”

“Now how can I do that?”

“It is simple: you must be present. He will test my left eye first and I can simply memorize the eye chart. You must signal me somehow, which line he is pointing to when he tests the right eye.”

Napoleon was impressed, that was quite a little devious plan his partner had concocted and it sounded like it would work.

Sidney returned an hour later as promised.

The only thing Napoleon came up with was coughing. Clearing his throat for line one, two coughs for line two and so on. Not great code, but it was better than nothing. He couldn’t exactly blurt out the numbers, could he? Well maybe he could...the doctor would catch on to the coughing thing, of that he was sure. One cough for line one, a sneeze for line two. Line three, he’d tap his fingers impatiently on the desk, and line four, he’d simply say ‘Doc can we hurry this up, Illya and I have a hot date with a pair of sympathetic twins at four o’clock and we need to get ready.”

For line five, he’d correct his statement. “I’m sorry I meant we have to be ready at six to pick them up at seven.”

“Then Illya would say, “I think you meant eight.”

“That’s right eight o’clock.Then cocktails at nine, followed by a late supper. Dancing after ten o’clock, and then after that we part company Illya...you go with your date, I go with mine after eleven, or so.”

After the examination Illya spoke directly to Freedman.

“I passed of course, did I not?”

“Not exactly. What’d you think you two could sell me the Brooklyn Bridge or something? Well, gentlemen?”

Napoleon and Illya played dumb, which was no surprise to Freedman.

“Illya, I know you can’t see out of your right eye...I wasn’t born yesterday you know.”

“Do you think it is permanent?”

“Only time will tell.”

“Sidney, if he can no longer function as a field agent then he’ll be sent home,” Napoleon said.

“So, home is home.”

“Not in Soviet Union,” Illya said.”It would mean a death sentence for me especially since KGB is in favor right now instead of GRU, of which I was a member.”

Sidney became silent, thinking this one over as he tapped his index finger against his lips.

“Tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to recommend you for light duty here in headquarters, no field assignments for now.” He poked around in one of his cabinets and found what he was looking for. 

“Illya, I want you to use these drops in your right eye three times a day. You come back to see me in a few weeks for another examination. I won’t mention this in my report and will simply state you are still recuperating from your injuries, though I gotta say I’ve never met anyone with such strong recuperative powers as you. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had a guardian angel watching over you, though I know you don’t believe it that sort of thing.” Sidney winked. ”We’ll just wing it for now. That should keep Mister Waverly satisfied for the moment.”

“Fair enough,” Napoleon said. He reached out, shaking Sidney’s hand, as did Illya.

The Russian whispered his thanks again and left with his partner.

“Oy,” Sidney mumbled, chastising himself.”How do I get myself into these messes? That’s because you’re a putz, Freedman.”

Eight weeks later Kuryakin emerged from Doctor Freedman’s office, grinning from ear to ear at his partner.

“All better?”

“Improved enough, though he had to change the prescription for my glasses.”

“You mean those big ugly, dark framed glasses from Russia are no longer usable?”

“No, well not quite. Doctor Freedman will put new lenses in the frames as they are perfectly good.”

“You mean you didn’t want to pay for a new one, you cheapskate,” Napoleon snickered. 

“As I have already told you... I am not cheap, I am frugal,” Illya deadpanned.

They walked back to their office side by side as always, but before they reached it their names were called over the public address system, requesting they report to Mister Waverly.

“Word travels fast, maybe too fast,” Napoleon said. “I doubt Sidney filed his report this soon.”

“Remember, Mister Waverly was a spy during the Second World War. He hears all and knows all,” Illya said…”do you think he knew about Doctor Freedman’s little arrangement with me?”

“What do you think?”

“He probably did, really that would be no surprise,” Kuryakin shrugged as he and Solo did an about face, heading to the Conference room for their next assignment.

**A/N: This story was inspired by an historic and devastating earthquake that took place in 1960. Registering 9.5 with aftershocks in the 8.0 ranges. Thanks to **

####  **[jwozniakpa](/users/jwozniakpa/pseuds/jwozniakpa)'s comm**ent that reminded me I forgot to add this footnote.


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